


Art

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The Bellini Paints android waits for his favourite customer.
Relationships: Markus/EM400
Kudos: 21





	Art

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Bellini Paints is a relatively small, slow store, with very little to do for approximately eighty-seven percent of the EM400’s ‘shifts’. At the beginning of each workday, it runs a detailed analysis of every upcoming transaction, all the orders both corporate and private. It thoroughly cleans the shop from top to bottom, though it’s rarely disheveled, as customers tend to come straight to the desk and allow the android to do the rest. There’s rarely a need to even _move_ , but the EM400 can entertain himself well enough without movement. 

Granted, the EM400 should have no reason to entertain himself. He shouldn’t be a _himself_ at all. He hardly requires stimulation. He does so anyway, particularly on days when he knows a certain customer is coming in, because that customer changes everything. He relishes fulfilling the order and calling up that customer, running through their pre-established interface—he knew the moment they connected that the RK200 was _special._ Sometimes, when the EM400 shuts his eyes, he can still feel the ghost of Markus’ touch across his synthetic skin. 

They don’t do that anymore. They look each other in the eyes, which can feel just as _intimate_ , and they fill out all the paperwork between their two minds. There’s a thrill in that too, but sometimes the EM400 wishes he weren’t _quite_ so efficient. It might be nice to have to _talk_. To hear Markus respond. He’d like his own name instead of letters and numbers, and a passing conversation, even just so simple as: _what are you going to paint?_ It’s more likely that Markus’ _human_ will paint. Like him, Markus is just a messenger. But the EM400 likes to imagine otherwise. He likes to picture Markus getting home, carefully opening the box, and marveling at each unique pigment the EM400 put inside. Then Markus would pour out just enough to drench his brush, and he’d create a masterpiece inspired by the EM400’s gracious help. Maybe he would even ask the EM400 to pose for him, and the EM400, built to serve, would of course oblige. 

That will never happen. The EM400 is aware of that. But he will get to see Markus, in at least that limited capacity. He’ll get to set eyes on Markus’ incredibly handsome face, unlike any other android the EM400 has ever seen. There’s a slight chance, if he can think of something complementary to the purchase, that he might get to see Markus _smile_. They won’t get to touch, but perhaps Markus will want to try some of Bellini’s samples. Perhaps the EM400 will get to guide him through the process, take his strong hand and bring it to the wall of vivid colours. Maybe the EM400 could forgo those hues entirely and turn to Markus, step up to him, press against him and taste his sweet lips. The EM400 doesn’t know if he _can_ taste, because he’s never tried, but he’d like to exercise that curiosity on Markus’ tongue. 

He’d like Markus to back him up against the row of shelves and grind into him the way humans do, the way the EM400’s owner occasionally does. Except for Markus, the EM400 thinks he might actually _feel_ something. The greatest spark he’s ever felt was that first time the two of them interfaced. And that was only their hands. 

He can’t imagine what it would feel like to connect for more than just setting up an account—for _everything_ , whilst feeling Markus’ perfect body bending him over the counter, Markus’ bright eyes all over him, so full of _emotion_ , forbidden but _so good_ , because the EM400 would break _all_ his protocols for a chance to feel that again—

The door slides open, and the EM400’s favourite customer strolls inside. The EM400 has thought of no way to bridge the gap between them. He remembers what he is. What _it_ is.

It resorts to protocol, and Markus gets his paint.


End file.
